


ulap

by astkora



Series: Kentell's Playlist [1]
Category: SB19 (Band)
Genre: Best Friends, Idiots in Love, Introspection, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Dancing, Song: Ulap (Rob Daniel), Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27510469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astkora/pseuds/astkora
Summary: Isasayaw. . . ka sa ulapIf only it were easy right then — to fall blind to the rest of the world and forget their very identities. If only it were easy to lose his control and drag Ken closer to his chest as he guided them both to the unhurried pace of their dancing. For a split second, he risked glancing at Ken’s face to see how he fared, to watch how Ken lifted his head to meet his gaze, to the way his lashes fluttered before closing his eyes shut and pressing his temple against Stell’s cheek.For all of their leisurely swaying, he did not remind Ken that the ground on which they trod was nothing but an unfamiliar territory.prompt: imagine  kentell slow dancing to "ulap"
Relationships: Stellvester "Stell" Ajero/Felip Jhon Suson | Ken
Series: Kentell's Playlist [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010544
Kudos: 11





	ulap

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this [edit](https://twitter.com/istgvstr/status/1315562509303070720?s=20) from jayrie and [this one](https://twitter.com/kentonsoup/status/1315282684730511360?s=20) from sophia
> 
> Finished this a few weeks ago, but guess who's finally had the will to post this after witnessing _that_ kentell crumb today?
> 
> Here's kentell slow dancing as promised. Enjoy!

“Nak, isasara na namin dito, ha?”

There it was. The staff’s signal. The quick, hushed exchange of goodbyes filling the atmosphere as the people carrying the filming equipment filed out of the studio, glancing back at their trail and advising Stell last-minute that he double-checked the doors to see if they were locked. In truth, he would not be able to complete such a task at night especially when he had no one in sight to accompany him through the hallway.

But he was not alone. Not really. Not when the sports bags thrown carelessly behind in the room divider meant to carry clothes for two. Not when the silhouette of his best friend Ken stood unmoving inside the dimly-lit bathroom where the younger man was currently brushing his teeth. They were supposed to be here for the next few days.

“Stell.” He ceased his pondering and turned to the staff. Their smiles were strained, and their faces weary under the artificial light. “Di na kami papasok bukas,” said Rose. “Ikaw na muna bahala kay Ken.”

He bristled, although irked at nothing in particular. Those words rang in his ear, punished him with a volume he could not bring himself to control. There it was again. The measured, well-thought-out plea to look after their spoiled _anak_ they called Ken. That was fine, though. It pleased him, all the same, to witness Ken greatly taken care of, to be accepted by the brothers he had come to meet, to be embraced by such welcoming acquaintances in a city the younger man had once considered strange.

However, there was this voice, this one pestering whisper that reminded him of his place, of his _boundaries._ Everyone painted Stell as Ken’s brother figure. He had been and always will be there as Ken’s shadow, clapping his shoulders, walking his friend through the toughest twists and turns of their career. And it _sickened_ Stell, forced him into a flustered mess on the couch. 

As he occupied the cushions by the corner, Stell wondered exactly why it even _bothered_ him.

He was not usually so introspective. It bothered him how much he’d paced out, how long he’d stared at the door before the staff had closed it behind them as they left.

As if on cue, an audible cranking of the faucet broke the silence. Stell glanced at the bathroom, expected its inhabitant to step out. Ken did not reappear.

The night grew late with the hours of Saturday crawling in. Tomorrow would be the second day of his and Ken’s rehearsal. They had to finish the spin-off to Go Up’s choreography, reworked and polished to carry out a thought-provoking concept at Sejun’s request.

Tomorrow they would polish the short krumping section Ken had infused into the breakdance. In retrospect, Stell had originally voted against the idea considering that it was, after all, too small of a detail. But Ken was a persistent soul, and it delighted him to imagine his co-members going through rounds of perfecting their routine simply because he enjoyed watching them _sweat_.

It was for Ken’s own amusement, that much was obvious, but with the younger man insisting that he massaged Stell’s lower back after their rehearsal, it had soon become a challenge for Stell to refuse his best friend’s wishes.

For all of his complaining, Stell had quickly warmed up to the change. He didn’t know whether it was because his body had ached for an honest challenge, or because Ken had grown extra giddier inside the studio where they rehearsed.

At last, the door to the bathroom cracked open.

“Nag-iwan ba sila ng pera?” asked Ken. His best friend stepped out of the bathroom with sweatpants that hung low by his hips, sparing Stell a quick glance before crossing the room and plugging his phone into the speakers.

In Stell’s silence, he followed his friend’s every move, tracing the lines of Ken’s limbs that fell to his sides as he shifted around. There was nothing out of the ordinary with Ken’s stride, nothing at all, but the way he carried himself in his own space reminded Stell how much he’d changed from the man that had once cowered in their auditions.

“Grabe, ang lamig.” Ken fumbled with his phone, visibly shivering in that oversized shirt. _Ulap_ by Rob Daniel soon replaced the silence that hung between them. 

_Nagiisa_ _. . . nakadungaw_

Sighing, Ken locked his screen at the flick of his thumb, and settled the device on the computer desk with effortless grace. He threw his head back, reached for his hair, ran a hand through its dew-tainted strands. 

Stell couldn’t understand why, but it took his breath away.

This man, right here, was a man that knew his place, and the fact that Ken paraded a certain tinge of confidence without even knowing it was enough to ground Stell exactly where he sat. No matter how much he pushed the thought away, it had always occurred to him how much of Ken’s obvious finesse had intrigued him.

“Ikaw ah,” Stell started. “Anong gagawin mo sa pera?” He gripped the cushion by his thighs out of instinct. “Mag-oorder ba? Kala ko ba ‘di ka na gutom?”

For a moment, there was only silence. Ken had quirked a brow, stubbornly unmoving in front of the desk as if carefully weighing his options. A sweater would have suited him better tonight. His shirt stuck a little _too_ close to his chest. 

“Tanga.” Ken chuckled. He crossed the room right then, rushing towards the couch to collapse against Stell’s side with a long, withdrawn exhale. “Para ‘yon sayo, no.” He threw an arm over Stell’s stomach and tugged him close. “Hindi ka kasi nag hapunan.”

Stell’s breathing hitched. 

His best friend was not usually this vocal, especially not when the weariness in Ken’s eyes spoke much of his own exhaustion. Without a single word, Stell shifted his right arm and slipped it underneath Ken’s head. He offered his shoulder, granting Ken more room in his arms, and outright dismissed the growing ache in the underside of his bicep so long as it meant holding his best friend’s head while he drifted.

There were no words left to justify just what had driven Stell into pulling him close, only that he had done it to prevent his friend’s recent case of a punishing sore neck, and that it was to sate the staff’s wishes when they had left him in-charge that very night.

_Ikaw na muna bahala kay Ken._

As he closed his eyes to the blinding truth, Stell knew deep down where his heart thumped erratically that it was a complete _lie_.

_Nakaupo_ _. . . lumalayo_

He squeezed his eyes shut. Thinking. . . contemplating. Forcing himself to see reason and no longer ponder on how much the sharp scent of strawberries in Ken’s hair intoxicated him. His arm ached, but it ached from a choice he very much desired. It lay numb underneath the weight of his best friend, pressed against Ken’s shoulder blades, inching impossibly closer to the soft muscle if only to brush his fingers against the bare skin of Ken’s tender bicep. 

He squeezed.

“Mmm.”

Stell froze. Seconds ticked between the ceaseless thrum of the AC. The rain pattered hard against the roof, drowned out by the thunder that cracked the sky into tainted shards. Stell glanced at Ken’s face, willed himself to breathe normally.

Then again, this was not the first time he’d nearly crossed the line.

 _Please,_ he begged himself, although, for what, Stell did not know. As he trailed his eyes over the trace of calmness across Ken’s most striking features, the misplaced longing rekindled the familiar grief inside the crevices of Stell’s heart.

_Sa tukso_ _. . . upang di magulo_

Tears brimmed his eyes. Stell hauled himself up, detached himself from the body that had been clinging to him, and crossed the room to _breathe._

He anchored himself to the edge of the desk. Against the dimmed lighting in the studio, Stell’s eyes shone with the frustration he had long since tried to put at bay. There was no denying what he felt, what his heart so wished for him to _do,_ but it was Ken placed on the line — Ken and his whole innocence, Ken and his impulsive nature, Ken and his rash desires. All the younger man had ever done was seek warmth from Stell, the man he’d treated as a brother, earn his heartiest laughs, send his best friend into hysterics when the world had _just_ grown cruel.

He was _Ken_ , right in his most comfortable state, holding Stell close because he _trusted_ him. And yet Stell’s fingers trembled beyond control, numb against the varnished mahogany where they gripped the edges of the desk. He closed his eyes to the minimal light inside the studio, begged himself to forget the body that lay on the couch waiting for him.

Without warning, a pair of arms returned to his waist.

“Dre,” Stell choked out, now obviously panicked with the way Ken was acting. “Ano ‘to?” His throat closed up around the words, swallowing a silent gasp as Ken pressed his jaw into the juncture of his shoulder and neck, sighing in his own stead, burning Stell’s porcelain skin with easy, controlled breaths.

“‘Ayaw mo ba?”

When Ken spoke, his words were hushed and careful, heavy with an unspoken wish Sell was not prepared to hear. He shifted closer, pressed against Stell’s rigid back, opened his mouth to sigh, and engraved the words across his best friend’s neck with his thick, tender lips.

“Nilalamig ako, best pal.”

Fuck. That was it. The last straw. Without even thinking, he whirled around to face Ken and outright _hauled_ his best friend into his arms.

A beat passed. They fell into the languid, easy to and fro of their dancing.

_Isasayaw. . . ka sa ulap_

They needed not the words. Everything surrounding them had faded into complete stillness, quiet in the very space of the studio, reserved except for the faint, acoustic melody that floated from the speakers, and the rain that ceaselessly hit the roof as midnight crawled close. Stell shuddered when Ken buried his head into his neck. The younger man soon drew himself closer, pressed himself flush against Stell’s chest with gentle intent, easing his way right in, settling as if he _belonged_ there.

In Stell’s silence, his aching heart _burned._

_At maguusap. . . hindi manghuhula_

If only it were that easy right then — to fall blind to the rest of the world and forget their very identities. If only it were that easy to lose his control and drag Ken closer to his chest as he guided them both to the unhurried pace of their dancing. For a split second, he risked glancing at Ken’s face to see how he fared, to watch how Ken lifted his head to meet his gaze, to the way his lashes fluttered before closing his eyes shut and pressing his temple against Stell’s cheek.

And Stell did nothing but swallow a silent gasp as if he’d been electrocuted, as if the intensity of Ken’s eyes had burned his skin where they remained joined and interlocked despite all the layers of cotton that had come in between.

For all of their leisurely swaying, he did not remind Ken that the ground on which they trod was nothing but an unfamiliar territory. 

“ _Isasayaw_ ,” Stell crooned, locking the words into his friend’s hair, his arms trailing down to fully enclose Ken’s waist in a tighter embrace. “… _ka sa ulap._ ”

A low rumble escaped Ken’s lips. He sucked in a steady breath against Stell’s ear, reaching for the hem of his friend’s shirt to grip the fabric before slowly, slowly intertwining his fingers. They lay unmoving, pressed against the muscle of the older man’s hips, only to crawl higher to where Stell’s back had grown rigid. When Ken held him there, it forced a breathy chuckle out of Stell’s throat. 

His best friend’s fingers had always touched the right places.

It warmed Stell’s chest right then, and yet there were no words. No excuses. No _nothing._

Ken stood there swaying, pliant under Stell’s touch, breathing against the skin of Stell’s cheek as if to remind them both of the minutes they had stolen.

Despite the punishing reminder of reality, Stell had only tugged him closer, gently inviting him in, and the next time he sang the lyrics, his hand had already found Ken’s jaw, running his thumb over the skin before using it to guide the younger man’s face closer to his.

“ _Di hahayaang_ ,” Stell echoed, the words heavy on his tongue, whispering the bitter truth against Ken’s temple, “ _mahulog ng tuluyan_.”

Whatever it was he felt, Stell knew not.

Perhaps it was an intuitive feeling, an irresistible urge to look after Ken like their circle of friends had always expected of him. Perhaps it was the unfamiliar ache in his chest that had driven him into actually pulling Ken into this unnecessary stunt of his. But, right here, right where they held each other close and breathed into each other’s space, Stell understood that whatever it was that burdened him had not simply stemmed from nothing.

The song’s chorus ended. It dragged out through the speakers, whispering distinct arpeggios before dropping into faint volumes. With a breathy sigh, Stell spun them in a measured sweep, squeezing the muscle of Ken’s hips as they swayed.

And what _if_ he liked Ken? What then?

If the world were to strip him of his strength and render him speechless at the cost of his confession, would he even dare open his mouth and surrender the truth to his best friend?

There was no room for such thoughts. He sought Ken’s warmth and clung to him as if at a desperate loss for air, but would never, not once, in any world, confess what his heart held. No matter how much Stell had yearned for him in the shadows, where he had looked over his friends’ figures and caught the young man losing himself in his own space, he cannot give himself what he so desired. Ken was his best friend. That wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

And yet when the arms that circled his waist had grown heavy, Stell was soon reminded exactly how much courage his best friend even possessed.

There was no mistaking Ken’s intent. He’d always been there on the sidelines, prepared to follow Stell’s trail, to lurch forward and break into a fit of giggles, to seize Stell’s attention even with the cameras watching their every move. That was how Ken came to be. He wore his heart on his sleeve, chased his desires with his steadfast will.

So when Stell broke out from his trance and caressed Ken’s jaw with his thumb, only then did he realize what he truly felt. What they _both_ did.

“Stell,” Ken whispered, leaning into his touch. The thunder that persisted over the sleeping city had drowned his voice, rendering it into a hushed plea in the little space they shared. In turn, Stell burrowed his nose into Ken’s hair, sought the familiar scent of strawberries, and said nothing.

He knew very well that Ken was impulsive. Would it be so great of sin if Stell were to be impulsive, too?

The song finished. Its absence sent the studio into an empty hush, leaving Ken shifting in Stell’s arms whose heart ragged in its ribcage. There were no words left. Just their breathing, the weight of their fingers, the echo of Stell’s unspoken confession.

It pained him to have the song end so soon. So, when Ken had begun pulling away, Stell simply let him, watched his best friend slowly detach from the home he’d found in his neck, prayed that things were different, that that they’d be free to speak their hearts. 

In between his thoughts, Ken leaned in to kiss him.

“Ken,” whispered Stell, who had turned his head quickly enough before Ken could even catch his lips. His heart ached in his chest, and it ached so _good_ , but with the world watching them, with the rain itself bearing witness to the stolen minutes they shared swaying in each other’s arms, Stell was soon struck by the reality that awaited them at dawn. “Dre. . .” he tried, gulping at the searing pain from Ken’s lips that ghosted over his jaw. “Ken, kaibigan kita.”

_Hindi, ayoko na ng sayaw._

If those words had pained his best friend, Stell would never know. He blinked back the tears, desperate for Ken to see reason, only to outright _cry_ when Ken had simply smiled and _hugged_ him.

_Hindi na ako magkukunwari._

_Gusto ko ng yakap. . . na makasama ka muli._

**Author's Note:**

> It just occurred to me that I actually wrote this in between midterm exams. All those sleepless nights spent drafting this piece instead of studying... hnggg still worth it.
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts! In fact, all that keyboard-smashing is what keeps me going. Thank you!
> 
> Come scream with me at @garudaks on [twitter](https://twitter.com/garudaks)!


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